


In the Silence

by SegaBarrett



Category: The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28736943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Sonny and Tom have got a bit of a routine.
Relationships: Sonny Corleone/Tom Hagen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: New Year's Resolutions 2021





	In the Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borevidal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borevidal/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own The Godfather, and I make no money from this.

Sonny Corleone was obsessed with the texture of Tom Hagan’s hands. He found that he was never fully comfortable going to bed unless he ran his fingers over Tom’s and traced the crease of each knuckle, lapped his tongue along each fingerpad as if Tom was dipping it in ink.

Sometimes he wondered exactly what it was to feel this way for somebody else. It was fearful – it made him vulnerable, made him opened up so anyone could come by and spike him full of tiny holes.

But not Tom. Tom wouldn’t.

Now, he leaned his head against Tom’s shoulder and let out a gentle little hum. 

It was impossible to be mad at him, even when sometimes Sonny wanted to be. He was all about compromises and coming to understandings and making sure that no blood was shed unnecessarily.

How could Sonny tell him that sometimes all he wanted was to shed blood? Only of the guilty, somehow, to protect the innocent (as he had told himself as he rained blows down on Carlo’s head with fists and trashcan and trashcan lid besides) and to let something inside of him out that always seemed to be building.

There had been something flowing through his body as he beat the shit out of Carlo, some kind of adrenaline.

There were better places that he could put that energy though, that he knew – and he knew that Tom would let him know where, as he nibbled down Tom’s neck and let out a happy moan. 

“Why did you do it?” Tom asked, but Sonny knew that the question was rhetorical. Tom knew Sonny as well as Sonny knew himself, as well as Sonny knew that there was no scenario in which Carlo would have gotten off scot free.

“Why didn’t I kill him, you mean,” Sonny replied, and it wasn’t a question. 

Tom shook his head just a little bit. 

“Fair enough, Sonny. But a lot of people saw you. Now isn’t the time to be getting noticed with these kind of, well, large displays.”

“I’ll try to keep my next beatdown indoors,” Sonny replied. “Now, can we go get some dinner? You’re making me hungry with all of this… counsel.”

When Sonny saw Tom crack a smile, he knew that he had won. Those smiles were always such a triumph with Tom, like climbing the top of the tallest mountain and looking downward. 

And so they walked to the kitchen and made sandwiches of meats and peppers, coated in olive oil, and sat down across from each other and looked at each other as they ate. It would have been incredibly awkward if they had been literally anyone else. Sonny didn’t even want to watch Sandra eat. But with Tom, he could sit there and watch him do just about anything.

Sonny let the olive oil slip over his fingers and he would be lying if other uses for it didn’t pass through his mind every time he watched Tom nibble on the edge of one of the long hots. After all, Tom’s fingers and hands could be very distracting – they were long and curved, smart hands, lawyer hands, good-boy hands and they always had been, even though Tom could do bad just as easily as Sonny.

He just did it in a different way, and Sonny always loved to watch him work.

“So,” Sonny said, pausing in the midst of a bite into his own sandwich, “What do you think I should do, oh wise one, with that piece-a dog shit Carlo? After all, as you always like to remind me, Connie’s your sister, too.”

Tom leaned forward and lapped the oil from one of his fingers, and Sonny swallowed. 

“I think you should watch him for a bit and see if he’s smart enough to have gotten the message. Maybe that was all he needed to get it loud and clear,” Tom said, “Or maybe he’ll do us the favor of going out for cigarettes and never coming back, and then, well, Connie can tell people he died in a mining accident or something like that. We find her somebody new.”

“We could also make sure he dies in a mining accident,” Sonny grumbled.

Tom smiled.

“I mean,” he said. “We could.”

***

Things would get quiet at night, and that was when Tom and Sonny tended to steel off together. They had enough excuses, after all – they could always claim “urgent family business” and, after all, in a way it always was. There was no way that either of them could live being as pent up as they always were, or constantly needing to look over their own shoulders, or each other’s. 

And so they found a place to say the things that they could only understand in each other’s voices.

They would start on levels – Tom sitting in a chair and Sonny on the bed or vice versa, rolling their heads until seemingly satisfied that no one could break the seal of their sanctuary.

And then – well, it would always start like business. Sonny would make a demand, then Tom would counter with a calm, rational alternative. Sonny would yell – but just as the words would leave his mouth he would apologize.

And his apologies tended to come in close, as close as he could be to Tom – to his lips, to his neck. Smelling his hair, running his fingers over Tom’s arms and humming a song that only they knew the lyrics to.

And then it would be – quiet, always quiet, because it seemed as if there was always going to be somebody watching, maybe the FBI peeking in the windows or maybe the tick-tock of time in both their heads. So they became silent shadows on the wall. 

But they could do a lot of things and still stay quiet. They could do a lot of things at night when no one would think to look for them (unless somebody was dead, after all).

Everything was tangible, like clay, together in their hands. And it would stay that way. 

Sonny prayed every night, before he shut his eyes, that somehow it would always stay that way.


End file.
